The Parting Glass
by BookyJuliet
Summary: And here, on the banks of Hogwarts lake, the Giant Squid floating somewhere under its black crystalline surface that refracted the color of rich gem stones, she was content. WARNING: Main character death ahead.


Title:The Parting Glass  
Author:BookyJuliet  
Genre:Dark, Hurt/Comfort?.  
AU/CU:Alternate Universe.  
Rating:K+.  
Warnings:Main character death…however…it's not actually all that depressing.  
Word Count:2,576.  
A/N:What you should know – I apologize for this one-shot. It has no clear ship, and really doesn't need one. As stated it deals with a character death. A main character death. But is surprisingly up-beat considering its content matter. It is also not all that in character I don't believe. Maybe you will disagree, but to me, I see it not being so great in that department, on the other hand, she's dying, perhaps he's having some father figure mentality. Who knows.

_The Parting Glass_

It was sunny. The air was sweet with the promise of a long, hot summer and the late spring flowers released a fragment aroma that wafted through the air, it cut through every other smell on the grounds of Hogwarts. For the chaos of the school, the lake was still and serene. Hermione couldn't remember how she'd gotten then, or why she'd chosen the lake. She suspected it was likely habit. But the setting sun glittered off its surface, fractured beams hitting the water like a million glittering rubies, sapphires, amethyst and punctuated by the occasional pockets of citrine.

It was sunny.

Her back leaned against the smooth cold stone of the rock she had sat on, and around more times than she could count over the years with Ron and Harry, Neville, the Patil sisters and Ginny. It was a happy place, and through the enchanting scent of fragment spring wild flowers she could hear the faint whispers of remembered laughter.

This was much better than Hermione ever considered it would be. Not that she had thought too much on the subject. For all of her brains and high marks, the things she focused on most were not of this nature. If you wanted to know how to brew a cure for boils in under half an hour, there was a spell for that. If you needed to know the drought of life, versus the drought of sleeping death, she could regale you with all of the details, the proper way to slice the ingredients, the proper temperature and thickness for your cauldron, and even, the best methods of storing them.

If she had spared a moment to consider it, this fairy tale condition, the setting sun, the sparkling lake, the smell of flowers; none of it would have made her list of ways for it to happen. Because there was no longer any denying the truth of the matter, however misleading it may have appeared to see her sitting there, back against the rock that so many Hogwarts students had used over the years, sitting in this same position.

They would probably think she'd gone daft, had wandered over in the middle of everything and sat down to mumbled to herself and count the number of imaginary creatures that floated around her head. This was not true. She was quite sane. Sane and cold despite the warmth that had been previously provided by the now setting sun.

It was sunny. And she was dying.

It was a peculiar affair to be confronted with one's immortality. The Gryffindor assumed she was supposed to be afraid, but had resigned herself to tacit acceptance. She didn't want to spend her last moments afraid of the end result. Everyone died, at one point or another, some older, some younger. Sometimes it seemed utterly unjust to witness the death of certain people. Sometimes, it was unjust for them to live as long as they did.

But the brunette had lived a happy life; she had friends who loved her, and strong family, some that was blood, some that was chosen. Between her parents, and Muggle family, aunts, uncles, cousins and grandparents; and the Weasley's, Lupin's and Tonk's she had enough magical family to fill a small state, throw in McGonagall, who had become a mother figure, and Harry and Ron and she had lived a very fulfilled life. Sure there was danger, but there were excitement and calm times as well. Always learning, always doing, and pushing her to be the best Hermione Granger she possibly could be.

And here, on the banks of Hogwarts lake, the giant squid floating somewhere under its black crystalline surface that refracted the color of rich gem stones, she was content. Sure, there were things she would now never be able to do. But it wasn't such a loss in comparison to what she had done. What-ifs, and could haves were a waste of time. And as she was running out of it in the form of sticky, warm blood that flowed freely from her body like it had every right to do so; she set her mind towards not wasting a second as she took in the beauty of it all.

Sucking in a harsh breath as she moved to adjust herself, pulling her broken tired body up by sheer power of determination she settled in to her last moments. She was not the first person to die in the war, nor was she the most important. She wouldn't make the top ten list of biggest losses. With the exception of Harry, Ron and her family, she doubted her passing would bring much grief. This was a good thing in her mind. She didn't want such strong people to waste tears on her.

"I wonder…" she breathed, a light breeze picking up to rustle the leaves in the trees, the sound a comfort in itself. Would Fred Weasley have waited for her? Upon his passing did the great divine, that unknown creator of everything that she could never rationalize believing in, shove out a hand, shake it's head and say, 'Not yet. Stay; there is someone you should wait for.' Or maybe it was James and Lily, or maybe Sirius Black. 'Don't go. Wait, there is one more. I promise.'

She allowed herself to hope. Because if she had to go, and she knew now that she did; it would be so much _easier_ if someone was waiting to take her hand, and lead her away. And if it was Fred, she would be content to know that he hadn't left her behind.

Warm but fading brown eyes slide closed a serene kind of smile settling to rest upon her lips. The breeze flirted with her again as the air became cooler, but she didn't mind. The warm, sticky hands of time still flowed from her wounds, reminding her that she was greatly made up of blood, and luck. And she felt just peaceful of enough to not be concerned with letting go…

When her eyes opened again, it was dark. So dark, and cold, surly, she couldn't be dead. Her vision was blurred. A kind of inability to focus that reminded her of the time she'd played kings cup with Charlie and Bill at the Burrow. She felt drunk, but she knew that wasn't the case.

Her eyes searched for whatever thing had brought her from her pleasant dreams, not looking far before they settle on alabaster skin and a curtain of long, dark hair that she would have known anywhere. It occurred to her, to be afraid. But through the blur of his face, she detected no malice.

"Hello, Professor."

He winced, like her croak of a greeting pained him, somehow. And she offered her bravest smile, as his wand passed over her, some incantation she didn't recognize, or understand being whispered to the wind. Whatever spell he'd done, whatever information he gathered, did not please him, and his face fell further as he let his wand dip back into his robes.

"Not good then?" She asked voice weak, and far away. Perhaps it was best, to be this close to peace, true and lasting peace, only to have it ripped away by life would be tragic in its own right. It wasn't that she didn't want to live. She did. But there was no help for her current condition. Too much time had passed, too much of her blood tainted to earth.

"No, Ms. Granger. It's not good."

Hermione took a small breath, her shoulders bouncing as she coughed before she wheezed in a breath. "That's alright; it's such a beautiful night, anyhow. I always did prefer to travel in the evening." She could swear his lips tilted into a dark, sad kind of smile. But the action was over so quickly she may just as well made it up in her mind. Some final comfort.

Severus Snape was for all the world the perfect angel of death. He was pale; his dark locks a sharp contrast to his skin. His eyes such a dark brown that they seemed black, and spiraled on for eternity. One might get lost in those eyes, she mused. If only they could get away with staring. But it was his _aura_, the energy that twisted around his person that added the final effect. And she watched in slight wonder and curiosity as he slipped the cloak from his shoulders, tucking it along her frame, the distant sounds of battle muffled but the struggling of her heartbeat.

"I thought it would be raining," she smiled. "When I…I thought It would be raining." He quirked a brow at her confession, but remained silent, those bottomless eyes watching her. "I preferred the sun. I thought the irony of it would be too much, too sad. But it was too beautiful to be upsetting." Her words came out in short spurts, punctuated by her breathing, wheezing in air like it was becoming too hard a task. It was. Talking. It was making her tired again.

"Was the appeal of rain, its poetic value?" He asked, it was very uncharacteristic of her snarky Potions Master. But she cracked another cheeky grin before caving into the cough once more, the metallic taste of blood filling her mouth.

"I think you may have caught me spot on," she breathed, her head leaning heavily back against the rock again, as she looked up at him. Always watching. Always searching. It was odd for him to be the one at her side. Odd…but not unpleasant to say the least.

"Do you think Fred waited for me?" She asked softly, eyes falling closed. It was so hard to keep them open, and each time they dropped it became even more difficult to open them again, but she tried, tried until the cracked open, but never made it past half-mast.

"I do not pretend to understand the afterlife, Ms. Granger," he offered in his cool tone, but it was different. More gentle now she supposed, than it had ever been during her time as a student.

"You don't believe in it, do you? Religion, life after death."

It was a question, but a statement. It was hard to imagine this man, in all of his practicalities attending church, believing in a God. Giving himself over to a higher power. With all that he had seen, and done, it was hard to believe he'd willing follow a religion, there was nothing for him but pain and suffering if he did.

"No, I don't suppose I do."

"I figured as much."

They lapsed into a silence that to her was companionable. It was a strange idea, to have such a comfortable silence with Snape, comfortable was never a word she could use to describe him in the past. Lifting her hand, she reached out to him, not as shocked as she could have been when he lightly accepted the advance, taking her hand in his, cradling her slight, cold fingers in his large and much warmer hand.

"I suppose I'll just have to report back then, won't I?" She wheezed. It was research, but her body lacked the ability to display her usually enthusiasm. "Keep an eye out for it, Snape. It'll be subtle." It took a strength she didn't have to lightly squeeze his hand, the pressure so light she doubted he felt it until the gesture was returned.

"I would expect nothing less," he assured her, gently. So very gently. This was not the Severus Snape she knew how to deal with. This man, this comforting angel, sent to her in her last moments was almost proof in itself of divine interference. She wanted to muse, to think it over. But she was _so_ tired.

"I think I ought to get on my way," she breathed, barley louder than a whisper as she let her eyes scan his face one last time, daring to get lost for a second in his mysterious eyes before her own fell closed with an ease of finality. It was a relief in itself knowing she wouldn't have to fight them open again.

As her breathing slowed, she felt something press into the palm of her free hand, humming in question, so soft, and low. But he seemed to hear, and as she felt the world starting to sleep away, she could hear his voice. Soft, smooth and rich, the darkest of chocolate of most wicked of bass lines.

"To pay your way up the river Styx."

As everything fell away, and only darkness reigned, Hermione was comforted by the idea that she had already been ferried into death. Her soul calmed, and her mind soothed by the knowledge that she was not alone as she exhaled her final breath, her struggling heart going silent.

It was not a bad way to go, to be comforted by the Potions Master of the Dungeons. Not a bad way to be eased into her passing, his large hand supporting hers as he offered soothing replies to all of her musings. He was the being who helped her ease into letting go. One more pleasant memory to join the rest as she was broken from her thoughts by the happy laugh of a voice she recognized, a big Weasley grin greeting her as she stood in the entrance way to Hogwarts Castle.

"C'mon, Mione. I've been waiting for you forever!" A hand was outstretched to her, peppered with freckles.

She smiled brightly, her head nodding, a mass of soft curls bouncing around her head as she rushed forward, her hand landing safely to rest within that of a fallen comrade, and best friend. "I'm sorry, Fred. I had to say goodbye to someone before I could leave," she offered as he shifted his hold, lacing their fingers together as they started walking towards the Great Hall.

"You know, I reckon the fireworks I can make in this place will be wicked. Do you suppose George would mind if I got started without him?" She tilted her head, her lips pursing in thought before she light shrugged.

"I imagine he'd be grateful, actually. The less time he has to spend trying to figure it out, the more time you two can spend inventing new things." Her grinned at her, and she returned the smile with a laugh as they pushed open the doors together, pausing as her eyes scanned the room, the tables for a feast. They moved to their usually seats, and she smiled shyly at the round of applause that came from her own table.

She smiled softly at Lavender Brown, who nodded her head politely at her in return before she looked up at the heads table, a bright, happy grin taking its place as her brown eyes met sparking blue that danced behind half-moon spectacles. In that moment, she knew she had a slew of happy memories. She had a good life, filled with love and support. She had friends, and family. And on the day Hermione Granger died, the air was heavy with the perfume of wild flowers, a soft May breeze carried through the air. Severus Snape had held her hand, and provided her the means to ride up the river Styx, and Fred Weasley had waited for her. But it was, perhaps the most important of all things to remember was simply this:

_It was sunny_.


End file.
